The Tales of Karin'Tor pt1, a BethylAU
by Ambrosia29
Summary: "Beryl" is torn from the life she knows when The Pale One and his army destroy her home and take her father captive. Torn between duty and family, she races to warn the King. Beset upon by rogues and aristocrats alike, who is friend or foe? This is the story that unfolds as Beth, Daryl and the others trapped inside the prison for the winter, play D&D to pass the time. Bethyl
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I had this crazy idea of "what if the characters all played D &D sometime?" and this is what I've snowballed that into. I've decided to re-edit this, so bear with me and pardon the dust! I'm including segments of life for our heroes in the prison as they play the game. The story is my own, as is the world of Karin'Tor. As for character faces and behaviors? Those are mine too. Except the visages of those I'm borrowing from The Walking Dead. Which I don't own nor make money from. Enjoy everyone!**

Cast of Characters

 **Hershel** : Count Herkimer de la Terra, _palladin_ (retired from service)

Countess Derys de la Terra, Morganite's mother & Herkimer's first wife (deceased), _cleric_

Countess Serina de la Terra, Beryl's mother & Herkimer's second wife (deceased), _herb-witch_

 **Maggie** : The Honorable Morganite de la Terra, Count Herkimer's eldest daughter and heir, _fighter_

 **Beth** : Lady Beryl de la Terra, Count Herkimer's youngest daughter & Morgan's half-sister, _bard_

 **Otis** : Henrik Orison, a Man-at-Arms in service to Count Herkimer, _fighter_

 **Patricia** : Charmaine, a _minstrel_ living and entertaining in the de la Terra household and Beryl's favorite tutor.

 **Randall** : Wolff Uniron, Beryl's childhood friend, a _Villein_ of the de la Terra holdings.

 **Jimmy** : Jacobi Anteon, Beryl's confidant and would-be lover, a _Small Holder_ of her father's holdings.

The Cast Will Grow!

Prologue

 _The prison sat silent, nothing more than the soft sounds of Michonne working out, Daryl cleaning his weapons and Beth humming quietly. The barest sounds echoed along the corridors. They'd been snowed in for a day, grateful for the break. It was cold enough the walkers were either frozen solid or bogged down in snow-banks and couldn't get to them. So they waited, made repairs where they could and otherwise passed the time._

 _After the third day, Beth had grown tired of singing, Daryl had cleaned his weapons and equipment before offering to go through the guns Rick had brought and cleaned them too. Beth watched from between bouts of reading a boring book as he finished the last of the handguns._

 _Glenn had returned from watch, trading with Maggie and Carl. Hershel and Rick were in another room talking and playing with Judith, giving Beth a break._

" _So, um…" Glenn said, "I found something a while back. Been saving it for," he blushed slightly and rubbed the back of his neck, "well, a rainy day. Just in case we get bored." Beth sat up straighter and looked over at him._

" _Spit it out, Glenn," she said good-naturedly, "What'd ya find?"_

 _Glenn smiled and held out a hand, "Wait here, I'll go get it." He dashed out for cellblock C and came back shortly, carrying a stack of books and papers. He sat them on the table. Beth came and sat at the table with him, lifting the top volume._

"' _The Dungeon Master's Guide?'" she read aloud, a smile in her voice, "Glenn I didn't know you played D &D."_

 _He looked at her with a little surprise, "You know what D &D _is _?"_

" _Sure. It's been a heck of a long time, but Jimmy and his friends used to play. I was usually too busy."_

" _Well, do you want to try it?" She shrugged._

" _Why not? Nothin better t'do. Besides, I think you'll make a good D.M."_

 _He grinned and sat down, sorting the volumes and lifted a folder. Lifting out a sheet of paper, he handed it to her. "I made this for you. Thought you might like it."_

 _She smiled as she read, "You made me a character! Beryl?" she mused aloud, looking at him._

" _It's a blue-green stone," he explained. She shifted in her seat and moved closer. He handed her a set of dice and sat back, grabbing another sheet of paper._

" _I made everyone a character, actually," Daryl glanced over at them, an eyebrow raised as he checked a magazine. "Thought everyone might like to try it out, at least. How 'bout it, Daryl?"_

 _Daryl turned his attention back to the guns. "Nah," he said around his cigarette, "Gotta finish this." He went back to polishing._

" _So," Glenn began, "We'll do a solo story for you and people can join later if they want. I made up the world, it's called 'Karin'Tor' and…_

Chapter 1: A Dark Cloud

Beryl pressed her lips against his own, relishing the warmth, the soft texture. His calloused palms gently stroked her cheeks, hot from the blush suffusing them. She pulled away, guilt forming a knot in her throat. "We shouldn't" she whispered.

"I know." He said softly. He pulled her into an embrace, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. She let him, holding him in return. Her oldest friend. She pulled back to look into his brown eyes and put on a brave, sweet smile. Jacobi. His tousled hair and peasant clothes contrasted sharply against her own, hanging in a long plait down her back. She wore a simple kirtle of soft wool, the high quality of the material a subtle difference beneath the drab grey cloak she wore.

They'd been sneaking away to spend time together more and more often of late, no doubt to the suspicion of her Father, Count Herkimer. As his youngest daughter, she had been brought up to expect marrying a member of the peerage or the aristocracy.

She knew, from the beginning, that this could only go so far. They'd been lucky that they hadn't been caught, that her father was a kind and understanding man. They'd been friends since childhood, since she and her sister, Morganite, had climbed over a fence and into a field in search of rabbits. That was how she met him: he'd caught her one, which she kept as a pet until it passed several years later. She'd still been a child, then.

The sounds of hoof-beats sent them flying from one another, she kneeling on the ground to inspect a non-existent pebble in her shoe while he kept his hands on his hips and stared down at her in an attempt to look concerned.

Glancing up, she took in the blue-grey eyes of her sister, her light brown hair braided around her head in a tight cap. Her riding clothes were also brown but her face stopped Beryl short. "Morgan, wat's wrong?"

"Come with me," she said sharply. She held out her hand and helped Beryl up behind her on the horse. She glanced at Jacobi and back at Beryl, but said nothing. Beryl sensed she knew, a lump forming in her stomach. "Go home, Jacobi," she said firmly as she rode away.

"What are you doing, beryl?" Morganite asked, irritation and concern plain in her voice.

"Nothing," she replied firmly.

"Don't lie to me, little sister. I know you're sweet on the boy. Won't be fair for him, if'n you two get caught." Beryl laid her cheek against her sister's shoulder and said nothing more as they rode to the Keep.

"Stay inside," Morgan said as she handed the reins to the stable-boy. "I think there's trouble coming and I don't want you getting into any more trouble." Beryl nodded and followed her sister though the courtyard and into the double-doors.

"Morgan," she said, stopping their departure, "What's wrong?"

Morgan turned to her and looked her in the face. She smiled, but it was a false one meant to keep her from worrying. "It could be nothing. I'll come tell you if something comes from it."

There they parted ways, she taking the left, toward her bower while Morgan took the right to the great hall and their father.

The drawing room was warm from the fire and sunlight streaming through the windows, the glass a gift from one of their vassals. Herkimer stood, wearing his customary brown trews and matching velvet tunic. Serina, his second wife, had insisted he wear clothes suited to his station while not in the field. The brown had been their compromise.

He smiled when he saw his eldest child enter, blue eyes crinkling in his weathered face. He strode to her and embraced Morgan. She pulled up short and laid a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Father, there's something wrong." He blinked and looked into her eyes, reading the concern reflected in blue.

"What is it?"

"When I was in the woods today" she often went hunting when her duties didn't keep her busy, "There was a quiet. But there were no signs of predators and the silence wasn't…natural. I've got a bad feeling."

"Morgan, you know we can't alarm our people needlessly. Did you see anything? I can't just tell them you 'had a feeling.'"

"I know, Papa. I –I think I saw tracks. Goblin tracks." His eyes grew dark with foreboding and he took a deep breath.

"I'll send out Henrick immediately. Where, approximately did you see these tracks?"

"It was in the east, near the ridge. I'll go with him."

"Alright, but be careful. I'll organize the guard and make sure we're prepared for an attack."

Beryl sat in her bower and wondered what had been going on. She'd spent time tuning and cleaning her rebec a few times before she tried to play to calm herself. It was an interesting instrument, a gift from her father. She smiled, remembering how he presented it to her. She'd seen it in his drawing room growing up, always curious. The tales he'd told…

It was a strange piece of functional art, reinforced around the bowl with metal. It was reinforced in a lot of places and its strings were made up of different metals as well. He'd told her it was used by a dear friend of his in The War. While it was meant for use in battle, he approved of Beryl learning to play and use it for more peaceful ends. He felt its previous owner, the King's Bard Endymion, would have approved as well.

She kept playing until her sole focus was on the instrument. After settling into a simple tune of a lullaby, she continued to play until she didn't need to consider shifting the bow over which strings, when or how. She focused on times when she'd felt relaxed, sitting in the sun outside with her sister, playing for her father before he retired for the evening, meals and holidays they'd shared.

The vibrations of the familiar instrument did calm her, but then she'd been practicing what Charmaine had been trying to teach her. She smiled softly to herself when she realized it had worked. She had tuned into that inner space in her mind, her heart, where the music resided. And brought it forth through her instrument and calmed her with that subtle magic.

A knock on the door broke through her quiet exultation. She laid the instrument aside and went to the door, puzzled to find neither Morgan nor Herkimer on the other side. It was an older boy, one of Morgan's friends and a vellein of their lands. His dark hair was combed back, slick with an oil and his clothes were clean, well kept. He held out a piece of paper to her wordlessly. She took it, leaving the door open as she went to the fireplace to see well as she read the note.

 _Meet me tonight after dusk._

There was nothing more. She looked up, a thrill of fear breaking the last of her self-enchantment. She whirled to the young man at the door. "Wolff, did he give this to you?" They'd spent enough time together; he'd known whom she meant. He nodded.

"Your father's ordered everyone to stay inside. Everyone's been moving behind the walls for the night until he's sure we're safe." She cursed quietly and he blinked, startled at her demeanor. "He's out there, Lady Beryl. We didn't receive the orders until after he'd left." She cursed again vehemently and whirled for the closet, retrieving a jacket and her cloak. She slipped them on while Wolff waited by the door.

"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.

"I have to go after him! He doesn't know! If something happened to him –

She couldn't finish the thought. She grabbed her knife and slid the sheath into the top of her boot.

"I'll go with you," Wolff said. She nodded and thanked him.

"Morgan would appreciate it," she said, fingering the gemstone at her neck.

They'd snuck out through the kitchens and servant's entrance to the Keep. It helped to have Wolff there, she realized. In her drab grey-colored cloak, she was less noticeable next to him and less suspicious. Together they walked in the shadows of the buildings and when they got to the gates, she took a sharp left for a spot on the wall which had deeper shadows.

There was a small structure, thatched, which held grain. She climbed from a stack of crates to the top and from there to the wall and began climbing with ease.

"Do this often?" Wolff asked.

"Only three times a month," she grunted as she climbed higher on the use-smoothed stones, "for the past several months."

"Jeez," he muttered, "What about the guards?" He began climbing up behind her, paying attention to where she placed her hands and feet as she climbed.

"They can't see us. I came by while bringing water to the guards one day and made off with a sconce and its torch. Makes it harder to see us."

They scaled the wall and down the other side in silence. When they made it to the ground Beryl took off like a shot for the western woods.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: sorry this took me longer than I thought! Apparently I write *faster/better* when I'm on the time-crunch of my 15min breaks at work. So…oops! I'm going nuts, even contemplating auditioning for (any part) The Walking dead. Means I'd have to get an agent…and I have no "real" acting experience although I've exercised those same muscles while LARPing. I still have some of those characters up in my head. Yeah: method actor here. Not exactly the safest way but I enjoy it regardless of the demons my characters carry (sometimes literally). Thank you Jensen for your reviews, they've kept me working on this! Enough of my ranting, here is Chapter 2!

Tales of Karin'Tor ch2

Beryl's lungs burned. Her legs burned. Everything burned. Her lungs heave with exertion and she fought for every breath.

 _Jacobi,_ she thought, _where'n the hell are you?_

She'd been running, searching for him for almost half an hour. She'd broken into a run for his home when she realized he wasn't in their customary meeting place in the woods. Wolff was beside her.

"Wait" he said suddenly, stopping. She skidded to a stop, looking back at him.

"What is it?" she said in a loud whisper. She shrank into herself when she heard it.

There were soft sounds all around them. Of twigs creaking beneath soft-soled feet. Of… _breathing_. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as a thrill of terror shot through her. She cautiously knelt, reaching beneath her skirt to pull out the knife in her boot.

With a loud cry and mixed laughter, a group of goblins sprang from the foliage around her. She slashed wildly with her knife, shouting, "Wolff, stand together!" The goblins didn't advance and she wondered why, looking at them with wide blue eyes and a grim set to her mouth. She was a De la Terre. She wouldn't go quietly.

"I've got your back," she heard wolff say close behind. She turned to check on him, find out if he'd grabbed a weapon. She took in the large branch he hefted in both hands and met his eyes with a shout of protest just as he swung it into her face.

 _I'm sorry_ , she heard echo through her head as she slipped into blackness and heard no more.

The first thing she was aware of was the throbbing in her head. It seemed to emanate from somewhere to the side of her head. She moaned, tasting blood, and opened her eyes. She struggled to move but found her hands tightly bound, her bonds biting into her wrists while her fingers bean to tingle. The goblins were still surrounding her but the scenery was different. Instead of the forest she'd found herself inside what looked, of all things, like an awning draped at the sides. They rippled slowly in the breeze.

"Oh, good, you're awake," said a familiar voice. Though her eyes stung with bitter tears at the betrayal, she gathered the blood in her mouth and spat on the floor before him as he approached. "No need to be like that, m'Lady,' he said softly, "Believe it or not, I'm actually trying to help you."

"Bullshit." She said.

A goblin poked its ugly head inside, green-tinged skin mottled with a sickly yellow-green and red eyes bulging in its face. It grunted something unintelligible in a grumbling tongue when it registered that she was awake, but Beryl took it to mean trouble, especially when it disappeared once more.

"That," sighed Wolff, "means we don't have much time" his tone was grim. He knelt before her, eyes beseeching. "Beryl, please. You don't know who these people are, what they're capable of. They'll kill you, your sister – your entire family and the whole Keep if you don't cooperate and _help_ me."

"Why should I relieve you?" she snarled. He raised his hand as if to slap her, eyes hard. She flinched and he softened, lowering his hand.

"I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm trying to save you. Save us, everyone."

"Is Jo even still alive?"

"Yes," he nodded and looked to the left, "for now anyway. Listen, they want these lands and they'll do anything to get them, even if it means destroying them in the process, surely you know what that means! There is another way, an easier way." He took a deep breath and licked his lips.

"This way no one gets hurt. They can take the land legally. No one has to die. I can protect Jo, I can protect you…" he paused, intently looking into her eyes, pleading with her to hear him. She listened intently, waiting, hardly daring to wonder what he could be trying to say.

"If you marry me and I become a vassal beneath Him, then they control these lands. Even our people's laws support it –

"I'll _never_ marry you! Traitor!" She spat again, this time catching him in the face with blood and saliva. He closed his eyes, features twisting, darkening in anger. He slowly reached up and dabbed at the offensiveness on his cheek. His eyes narrowed as he regarded her blood on his fingers.

"Just you remember," he said slowly, sharply jabbing a finger in her direction, "I tried to help you." He stood and walked to the flap of the door, turning to regard her once more. "If you change your mind, do it quickly. The Pale One won't be so patient with your…insolence."

He turned to go and Beryl struggled against her bonds, struggling to maintain feeling in her fingers. The ropes burned her skin when she twisted them, finding some way of loosening them – was she bleeding? – inside those tight confines. She looked around for something – anything – she could cut them with. Her boots! She glanced down and wriggled her foot inside but couldn't feel the sheathe.

She heard the approach of yet more goblins, their muttering language difficult without being closer. She lay still for a moment, trying to listen and see if she could catch anything familiar. She caught the words, 'yellow' and 'blade' – they were similar enough to the Orcish language and Herkimer had insisted she learn the languages of their foes from the War.

Before she was able to break free, a figure stepped through the flap. He was tall, taller than her father was. He wore a white cloak and robe, tied at the waist with a white cord and a belt. His face was obscured by the shadows within the low-hanging hood. "Now," he said softly, his voice lilting slightly, "I'll have none of that my dear."

Beryl glared at him, stilling herself despite her desire to flee. "As the young 'Master' Wolff has already informed you, I have a plan. It could," he said speculatively, looking at the firelight glimmering on his long talon-like nails, "include you and your family." His hood dropped as though he was looking at her but she couldn't be sure, "But that depends entirely on you, my dear."

He knelt before her and she caught his scent, reminding her of dark places no one should be alone in at night. The scent brought back a memory of a graveyard, pleading for her mother in the dark and the wet gravelly stones beneath her fingers. She shook at the memory and fought to push it away, to see beneath the hood.

As she watched, he pulled out a small vial and pulled out the stopper. She moved to lurch backward but he struck like a snake, catching her jaw with cruel strong fingers. "Drink," he said coldly as he poured the liquid down her throat. She resisted and he pressed the hand holding the bottle over her nose and mouth. After struggling for what felt like a long time, her vision began to fade into stars and she gasped when air was suddenly reintroduced into her lungs. She choked for air, the fluid sliding down her throat as he tipped her head back. He released her, stepping back quickly.

She coughed and spat, trying get it out but felt no different several minutes later. "Wat did you do?" she asked, her tone cold and angry.

"Devil's Tongue," he said with pride, "So tell me, my dear…will you agree to wed and ally yourself and your lands with me and mine?" She hesitated and he held up a hand, "Wait. Before you answer." He snapped his fingers and several goblins dragged Jacobi into the room. Tears stung her eyes as she saw him, face bruised and bloody. A glimmer of hope flitted through his eyes when he saw her. When he tried to speak, the goblin behind him laid a blow to the back of his head. He remained silent, watching everything with sullen eyes. She glared over his head when Wolff came in behind him, standing beside Jacobi. He gave her a look she couldn't read.

"Now my dear," said The Pale One, nodding to the goblins behind the familiar young men, who drew weapons. "Will you wed Wolff and ally yourself with us?"

Beryl took a breath to give herself a moment's time, uncertain how to answer. Of course she couldn't. But if she agreed, then Jacobi would be spared. _I can do this_. She took another breath, prepared to give her answer.

"I'd rather die than marry such an awful traitor."

The words hung in the sudden silence of the room, her wide eyes and hand clapped o her mouth belying her surprise.

"You heard her," said The Pale One. The goblins behind Wolff raised their weapons silently and struck, skewering him through the middle. His eyes bulged in pain and shock to see the weapon protruding. He raised a hand to Beryl and opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a small splash of blood. The goblin yanked his weapon free and kicked Wolff to the ground.

"Get that out of here," said The Pale One casually. The order was followed and Beryl watched in tears as one of her lifetime companions, traitorous or no, was dragged out of the tent still breathing, destined for what she could only guess…and fear. Regret and horror formed a lump in her throat, closing off anything she could have said to The Pale One.

"Now." He said decisively. "The rest of your options are thus: marry me, the boy lives. Refuse and you both die."

Her throat went dry. _Why had I said that?_ He smiled, finger lifting to his lips.

"You're wondering what happened." He stated flatly. Not trusting her own voice, she nodded cautiously.

"It is a little potion I devised. Its effects last…well, I'm not sure. It depends on the person. And it keeps others who take it from lying to me. Now, if you please: Marry me or no? State your choice."

She looked down at the ground and then back up to Jacobi. She knew what she needed to say, but it would only be a lie. And she couldn't utter it now. Her eyes teared up and she shut her mouth firmly, lifting her chin defiantly.

A blow connected to the side of her head and sent her reeling back into the dirt. She shook, trying to lift herself by her bound hands, fists pushing against the earth beneath her.

"You will answer me" he said, threat and warning in is voice. He waited a moment while she righted herself and she looked over at Jacobi again, terrified to answer the awful question. She still said nothing. Jacobi looked at her, eyes steady. Determined and resolute.

The Pale One sighed and waved a hand absently in the air. "Kill the boy," he said casually.

Beryl lurched forward, a horse cry of "NO!" ripping its way out of her throat as a sword thrust its way out of Jacobi's chest. His eyes were wide with agony and he twisted in his bonds, eyes on her as he gasped his last breath.

She struggled in her bonds, twisting on the floor. Fought against the ties, against her terror, against the grief and rage that took hold of her. "You bastard!" she shrieked, "Jacobi is my friend you'll have to kill me before I'll marry you even if I don't love him!" she said it all in a furious rush and he looked on amusedly at her tirade. She was shocked just as much by her words as by the fury inside her.

"That's quite enough," he said with an air of amused calm. A clawed hand suddenly reached for her and she twisted to avoid his grasp but it wasn't enough. His hand grabbed her upper arm and squeezed. There was a burning sensation where his skin touched hers. As he dug his claws into the flesh of her arm she sobbed against the pain, feeling her arm go numb before everything went black once more.

 _You will submit to me…and you WILL marry me…it is just a matter of time,_ whispered a terrible voice in her mind. Idly she wondered to herself why this stranger wanted _her_ as darkness took her once again.

The Pale One stood, releasing her arm and smiled with satisfaction before he turned to leave. "Bring her," he commanded the goblins. The four-foot creatures gathered her unconscious form and carried her outside to follow their master.

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed! I'm contemplating writing snippets of the characters playing their D&D characters but…it's just a thought. Perhaps something to break the tension. Please review! And if anyone has a better suggestion for how I could write the summary for the story (or the "hook") that would be awesome.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello readers! I hope you've been enjoying this so far. Sorry its taken so long to update! This chapter took me a while. Been buys between my kid, classes and work. And some kind of weird writer's block. And getting distracted by other people's fanfiction . Enjoy!**

When last we left our Intrepid Adventurers…

Chapter 3

Beryl became aware that she was moving, the cool air refreshing against the heat and pain that was her head. Opening her eyes, she realized there was an ache in her shoulders, dulled because she couldn't feel her fingers. She glanced up and found herself looking at her hands and arms. She was suspended by her wrists, bound together still and looped over a hook. The swaying, when she followed the hook's handle downward, was due to a large humanoid – was it an orc? – carrying her like a satchel hooked on a stick. Which is what the "hook" was.

She tried to flex her fingers and grew worried when she couldn't move them. "Hey," she said, her head uncooperative and her voice slurred a little, "Lemme down I'll lose m'fingers." The orc carrying her gave a grunt and otherwise ignored her.

She glanced around, feeling a flicker of hope and fear when she took in the Keep, silhouetted atop its hill in the night. Where once she'd thought the hill offered an advantage, she now saw how it left them isolated. Easy prey for a siege. Her heart sank as a lump rose to her throat.

"Send in the message," said The Pale One to her left. She looked, dreading what was to come.

She heard a great cranking and her heart beat faster as she saw a small siege machine cocked back and a team of orcs manning it. They cranked a lever and let fly the weapon – but Beryl's eyes stung with tears as she recognized a pair of human heads. She'd have thrown up if she had anything in her system.

 _Jacobi…Wolff,_ she thought silently.

A commotion was heard from the distance as the gruesome message had been received and The Pale One nodded to the orc carrying her. He followed his steps heavy as the three of them moved out into the open space before the Keep.

"Herkimer!" cried out The Pale One, his voice magically enhanced, making it louder than before. "Herkimer De la Terra!"

A voice she knew as sure as her own answered and she saw a round figure she imagined must have been her father. "Who'se fool enough to be askin' with such violence?"

The Pale One declined an answer, waving the orc and Beryl forward.

"Come out!" he called, "We have your daughter!" Guilt threaded its way heavily into Beryl's heart.

"Lemme see her!" he called. The orc lifted her higher and she began to feel numb, terrified of what was to come. He took a few steps forward and a goblin hoisted a torch to illuminate her features. She looked up, expecting them to tell her so, tears streaming down her cheeks silently though they quickly dried under the heat of the flame.

"What do you want?" Herkimer called.

"Come out. We shall talk," replied The Pale One.

After only a few minutes there was a cranking at the gate and it opened only a little, Herkimer and a few guards flanking him.

When they were several feet away, The Pale One held up his hand and walked forward. They eyed one another carefully from their different heights.

"What do you want?" repeated Herkimer.

"You," said The Pale One with simplicity. Beryl sucked in a breath, silently shaking her head. She was ignored by all.

"What do you want with _me_?" he asked further.

"You'll find that out in due time," said The Pale One. "Come with us and she will go free, back to your…home." He said derisively.

"And how do I know you'll keep your word?"

"Because, Count Herkimer," he said implacably, "I am a 'man' of my word. Just as you are."

Herkimer sat atop his horse, silent, considering. He gazed into the forest beyond the clearing surrounding their home. His eyes slid to Beryl and her heart sank further, guilt tightening like a noose around her heart. She knew what he would decide.

"Master Herkimer –

Their Counts stern gaze cut off the protest.

"Henrik," he said quietly, "take her back. And remember the _procedures._ "

He watched as Beryl was lowered to the ground and she winced – hard – when her arms were unhooked from the branch and lowered. Her bonds were loosened and she fought to not react as the rope, biting painfully into her wrists and hands, was yanked away. Ignoring her pain, she lurched toward her father.

"Father," she began but he cut her off too.

"Now listen to me, Beryl," he said with a stern but kind voice, "No time for tears. Remember, we all have a job to do. " His voice and eyes were intent, as though trying to convey more in those words than the simple words alone.

"Now, get back to the Keep and mind Charmaine," he said sternly. "And tell your sister what I just told you."

He rode to the side of The Pale One and she was shoved forward by the orc. She walked, a little stiffly, to Henrik and he helped her into the saddle. With great reluctance, she began the ride back, an itch between her shoulder blades telling her The Pale One was watching. She dared not look back, afraid she'd disobey her father again – afraid she'd do even more damage. _Though how this could be made any_ worse _is beyond me._

Morgan was at the gate and threw her arms around her sister. She gave a short sob into Beryl's hair but released her when Beryl pushed her away. She didn't deserve any sympathy, any kindness. Not until their father could be brought back to safety. _Perhaps not even then,_ she thought to herself.

"Morgan, I'm sorry," she said, "It's all my fault –

"Enough now," she said. "It don't matter. We need to get Father back."

Beryl nodded, wiping the streaks from her face. "No cryin'," she said, quoting their father, "we've all got jobs to do."

'Yeah," Morgan said grimly, "we do."

The next hour was spent watching the tree line while they made quiet preparations. The Pale One was gone, but the orc that had held Beryl was still standing out there in the clearing, holding a torch.

"Should we send someone to –

"Negotiate? For what? They've made no further demands. They're attacking is what's going to happen," said Charmaine behind her. "Get over here and help me," said the elder woman.

Beryl moved to assist her, pulling a large trunk out of the corner. "What is this?" she asked

"It's a passageway. It'll lead you to –

"I am _not_ running while everyone here –

"Beryl, you don't have a choice." Charmain looked at her, resolutely placing her hands on her hips, lips thinning with her consternation. "Your father told me to get you out. He trusts Morgan to handle things here but –

"You mean he trusts Morgan and not me?" Her heart stuttered in her chest hard at the words, the implication making her sick. She clutched a hand to her chest and fell to her knees as they gave out. She fought for breath, unable to stand beneath the weight of her guilt.

"Beryl, Beryl darling," Charmaine said soothingly, crouching beside the distraught girl and placing her arms around her small frame, " _This_ , this right here, is why. He wants you _safe._ It has nothing to do with what's been happening tonight."

"It's all my fault," she said brokenly, tears choking her voice, "If I hadn't been so _foolishly blind_ then he'd be safe now." _They all would be._

She lifted the younger woman's chin with gentle but firm fingertips. "It is not your fault." Said the minstrel soothingly. But the words fell on deaf ears. Beryl knew. She knew when people told pretty lies to comfort in the face of tragedy.

Morgan watched grimly from the parapet, feeling small inside her elder brother's armor. It had been adjusted for her use and thankfully he had been on the slender side, having been so young when he passed. But she felt a pretender to her brother's title. She couldn't let any of the uncertainty she felt show as she surveyed the woods beyond the firelight of the orc's torch. It concerned her, seeing the orcs and goblins working together.

Before The War, they'd been constant enemies. While she remembered the histories Count Herkimer insisted his children learn from the books, there was always a shadow of regret on his face when he remembered The War. The books insisted that the goblins and orcs bickered, even when allying themselves against their country. The books insisted their alliance crumbled due to a conflict amongst their leaders. But despite her questions, their father had talked little of the end of The War.

She pulled her thoughts from the distant past and stood straighter, a thrill of fear taking her as the orc, who had stood for a long while silently holding the ever-burning torch aloft, lifted the burning brand and waved it forward.

"It begins," she said.

She steeled herself, watching with growing dread as the goblins and orcs strode as one force out of the forest. She clenched her fist tighter around her spear as they kept coming, their numbers greater than she had suspected. Silently, she sent a prayer of thanks to the Gods that Beryl was safely away, marshalling her thoughts to the imminent battle.

As Beryl sat with Charmaine on the floor, the exposed wood of the secret passage door still locked safely in the floor, she heard a sound. A skittering, as though something was scratching against the surface of the wood. From the inside.

"Move!" hissed Charmaine, dragging Beryl away from the door and pulling her up as she stood. Beryl stood motionless for a moment while Charmaine quickly grabbed the box they'd just moved aside, silently imploring the girl to aid her. Beryl moved swiftly and silently, the two women lifting the box.

Just as they held it above the floor-sunken door, they heard an exclamation and a shout in a guttural language Beryl recognized as goblin-tongue. As the women dropped the heavier object to the wood, a blade appeared through the wooden slats. Beryl squeaked in surprise and jumped back, narrowly missing the weapon with her foot.

"Come on!" cried Charmaine as she quickly moved to grab their belongings and then Beryl's hand as she dragged her from her bedroom. Beryl heard a repetitive thump as the invaders began throwing their weight against the wood. It wouldn't hold for long.

"Fire!" cried Morgan into the smoky darkness. They'd repelled the first wave of orcs and goblins from the walls, dousing their foes in hot oil. She dared not set it aflame, wary of endangering those inside with the amount of woodwork of the walls. The base was of stone, their father had made sure of that long ago, but with the forest so close, it was too easy to pull from the land to bolster their defenses. Morgan regretted not updating their walls in her brother's name years ago.

The hail of arrows flew past and above her in a thin whistle and faint thrum of twanging strings. Orca and goblins went down in droves but she feared it would not be enough. They were outfitted for siege and it looked like that would be their end if they couldn't find help. Their foes were too many.

"Henrik!" she called. The man, covered in sweat from the heat of the oil vats, huffed his way to her.

"Yes, m'ilady?" he called dutifully.

"Ready the archers along the southern walls and prepare to send a rider to the city. We cannot hope to hold out against these numbers without being besieged and I won't have us unaided while we face starvation." He nodded and turned to run to the tower, taking the internal stairs down the parapet.

As Beryl and Charmaine ran through the halls of the Keep, Beryl felt a sickening rush of fear as the gravity of their situation dawned on her. They would be captured or worse. All these people. She took a deeper breath and shouted "RUN!" at the top of her lungs. Charmaine skidded to a stop and turned the younger woman in her arms to face her. "Charmaine," she gasped, "All these people, if we're overrun they'll die." The minstrel nodded.

"Go, raise the alarm and bring guards, they might get here in enough time to repel them." Beryl nodded and took off at a run, pausing at the end of the hall. She looked back. Charmaine waved and yelled, "Go! I'll get the servants out."

Beryl turned, a sick feeling taking hold in her gut and not leaving her. She ran, shouting for the guards along the way. "In the name of Count Herkimer, to me!" she shouted.

There were precious few guards, most of them having taken up posts outside on the walls and inside the courtyard. They'd not expected an attack from within. _How did they find out about the passages?_ She asked herself, _when I'd not known of them?_

The battering ram – a large trunk of oak pulled from the forest and still clinging to the dirt on its roots – was making the walls shudder beneath Morgan's feet regularly. "Bring it down!" she shouted, directing her archers to the creatures holding the thing aloft. Arrows rained down on them but more were there, flowing like water to take the place of each one as they fell down. "Light arrows!" she commanded, taking up her own bow and threading an arrow to it. She leaned to the side, dipping the tip in the small oil vat next to her and again to the torch not too far away. She aimed downward and was rewarded as the rest did the same. As one they let fly and she grimly relished the flames that took hold down below, even as she felt trepidation as they licked at the wooden structure.

They'd been granted a small victory as the goblins panicked, half of them moving to extinguish the flames. In that moment of distraction, Morgan set the guards to picking off as many as possible. The orcs were clever, actually stopping to roll in the dirt and bloody mud beneath them as others, fresher, took up their posts. _We'll run out of arrows,_ she thought to herself as she fired again and again into the mass. She eyed the vat beside her, deciding.

"Help me," she commanded another guard. His post was taken be another, leaning over the wall to fire into the enemy and provide some form of cover. Together the two of them lifted the vat and spilled it onto the battering ram below. With a last fire arrow, the whole thing burst into flames and the orcs holding it shrieked and dropped it. She heard their commanders bellowing orders, but as the firebrand burned bright, she knew they'd bought themselves a brief reprieve.

She spared a glance behind them, grateful for the small knot of guards moving everyone within the walls for greater protection.

Beryl returned to the hallway with a small band of guards she'd found in the Great Hall, directing peasants and their serfs into the storage room and kitchens to hide and brace for attack. Through the thread of panic at being informed of the internal invasion she was comforted by their steely resolve. She watched as the peasants armed themselves with everything they could: kitchen knives, broom handles, some broken into tips, a fire poker and no small amount of pots and pans. Someone was lighting torches, pulled from the walls and the kitchen fire was stoked higher. If the situation hadn't been so dire she'd have found it comical. _Their courage will be remembered when we sing our victory,_ she thought to herself.

The guards, numbering in eight, rushed ahead of her, knowing the layout of the Keep from their years there. She heard the clashing sounds of battle echoing off the stone walls and hurried faster, trying to keep up with their taller figures.

She turned the corner just after them and straight into a pitched fight. Charmaine was holding off a group of goblins with, of all things, a sword Beryl recognized from walking past it most of her life where it had hung from a nearby wall. She deftly skewered one of them and was joined immediately by one of the guards, a young man Beryl recognized from years of service.

They worked in tandem, bolstered by the rest of the guards. They made short work of the group of goblins. Before they could advance, the one she'd recognized turned to Charmaine and placed hands on her shoulders and whispered something in her ear. Beryl watched, slightly confused as the elder minstrel turned, hiking her skirt, and moving to Beryl.

"Come on," she commanded.

"But, the men," she began, gesturing to where the group of soldiers were at that moment vanishing down the hall to meet another wave of foes.

"My duty is to you," she said, unslinging a case from around her shoulders, "Take this," she implored, eyes beseeching. Beryl took it without question and slung it over her own shoulder, looping it diagonally across her torso, the bulk of the case at her back. "I need to get you out of here," she said grimly.

"But how?" Beryl asked as they moved, running once more back the way they'd come. "We need to find Morgan and tell her what's happening," she insisted. Charmaine nodded.

After the initial burst of flame and hesitation, she watched as a couple of the Orcs, way back behind the front line, began waving their arms and she recognized incantations. _Shit._ "Archers, aim for the spell-casters!" she shouted, knowing she was too late. Several of the downed orcs got up, their burns healing before her eyes in a flash of deep blue light. Another light covered a small handful, this one a sickening yellow. They grinned to one another and with impunity, took up the smoldering firebrand that had become of their battering-ram. She narrowed her eyes, taking not that their flesh neither sizzled nor burned as they held the hot piece of wood.

The rumbling of the walls began anew and she knew they were in trouble. _I wish Father were here,_ she thought bitterly.

The two women made their way through the Great Hall, listening with no small amount of fear as whoops and snarls began echoing down the corridor they'd just exited. She shouted a warning to those in the Kitchens and Charmaine ran ahead to open the door, shouting warning to the guards just outside. They gaped for half a second and moved.

Weapons drawn, they moved back into the Keep to defend their people.

With a sickening lurch to her heart, Beryl began hearing the sound of their enemies approaching from several directions and in her fear she backed out of the Keep, knowing what was to come. _We've been overrun,_ she thought with dread.

Charmaine grabbed her sleeve just as she moved to draw her blade and join their guards, drawing her away from the door and into the courtyard. There was chaos every which way, guards along the parapets moving back and forth with buckets of water, trying to put out the stables as one corner caught fire. The elder woman hesitated as she saw the flames, torn between making her way to the stables and one of the towers.

The decision was made for her as there was a loud crunching sound. Whipping their heads around to the noise, their eyes widened and hearts sank. The gates were breached and the guards formed a last barricade of weapon and bodies as they tried to stem the tide of strong orcs flowing through the hole.

As they ran to meet the guards flowing from the parapet to staunch the bleeding into their interior, Charmaine grabbed Beryl's arm and hauled her behind a stack of barrels and crates stacked beside the wall. Numbly, Beryl recognized it as the same stack she used to climb the wall.

 _Shit!_ thought Morgan, as she felt a lurch along the wall and heard a crunching beneath her. Henrik was there beside her throwing himself on top of her as the wall beneath them shuddered violently, toppling more than one of their guardsmen to a bloody death below. She pushed him off, about to berate him for falling on her when she realized his eyes were glassy and an arrow protruded from his neck. Jerking herself away, sick at the sight of her family friend, she looked around, surveying the tragedy as it unfolded.

The stables were aflame, horses running every which-way in panic, orcs and goblins spilling into the courtyard and battering against their defending men with too much ease. Goblins began spilling from the mouth of the Keeps entrance and she felt dread at the thought of those who'd been directed inside. She looked around and decided. "Sound the retreat," she commanded. It took her a moment to realize that she'd have to do it herself: the flag-bearer was dead, arrows making her immediate surroundings look like a pincushion. Taking up the horn, she lifted it to her lips and let the grief blast out through the instrument, a single clarion call of defiance and defeat. Of retreat.

Beryl hesitated for only a moment, spotting a lull in the swarm of orcs and goblins through the gate. _Maybe if I can catch a horse, we'll have a chance._ She contemplated whistling for the animals but thought better of it when a small and of goblins swiftly moved past them. _Over the wall?_ She turned to Charmaine.

"Charmaine," she whispered, can you scale the wall?" She looked down at the younger girl and blinked.

"Get your ass up there!" she whispered furiously. As one they moved, Charmaine moving behind the crates to keep watch and make sure they weren't spotted or followed. Beryl scaled the wall as swiftly as she could, feeling sick inside. They'd need horses to make it very far. _No time for that now._

Halfway up the wall, she turned to look down at her tutor. The woman was still hiding, but keeping a look out for anyone approaching. She hissed for the woman, hoping to get her up the wall too. She turned and waved her on, hissing, " _just go!"_

Beryl felt sick leaving her there like that, but turned back to the stones and climbed higher.

Morgan surveyed the scene briefly, forming a plan. She leapt over the bodies of her fallen guardsmen and raced along the parapet, for the tower at the farthest end from the gate. It was relatively untouched and the orcs hadn't gotten to it yet. _If there's anyone inside, maybe we can all make it out,_ she thought desperately.

She leapt down the steps two and three at a time, bursting out of the door and racing into the courtyard, whistling. The horses which still ran about hesitated as one, a couple making their way towards her. She took up a bow and shot the nearest orcs who took notice, grimly reminding herself that she'd have to fight her way out of the gates if necessary. The first horse to reach her, a sable-colored mare, stopped and she climbed up, wishing armor had been designed to be easier to climb in and swearing to herself never to wear it again.

Securely seated, she shouted to survivors, rallying them to her. A few answered, who weren't already in pitched battle for their lives. She caught movement along the far wall and through the smoke she could swear she could see her sister climbing over! _Oh, Gods, Beryl!_

Beryl made the top of the wall and beckoned Charmaine to follow, keeping an eye out for enemies. She cautiously looked over to the other side. While she could see the forces amassed against them, they were distant from this side of the wall. There was no gate here, so it must not have seemed important. She grabbed a bow from a fallen guard and his sword, gathering up a couple of arrows. She stayed low, knocking an arrow and looking back for Charmaine.

He companion had finally started climbing and was already halfway up the wall. Beryl looked further, keeping an eye out for the enemy and was glad she did. An orc had spotted the woman, drawing back a crossbow bolt and taking aim. Beryl leaned further out, aiming carefully and shot just as the orc tensed to make his own. She caught him in the throat and he went down but the action revealed her. "Hurry Charmaine!" called Beryl. The woman spared a glance downward and climbed faster. Having been spotted, there were a couple goblins and another orc giving them their undivided attention.

Arrows started hailing around Charmaine, a few narrowly missing. Beryl shot the last of the arrows she could find, taking out both goblins but looked on in horror as the orc took careful aim. She leaned down, attempting to reach Charmaine with the bow and pull her over the wall. "Grab it" she shouted. Charmaine looked up and reached with one hand, scrabbling for purchase with her feet. Her hand closed around the end of the bow and Beryl shifted her grip, preparing to pull with all of her might.

There was a jerk on her hold. Charmaine's entire body stiffened, eyes and mouth widening in an "o" of surprised pain. As if time had slowed down, Beryl watched as her friend, her companion, her teacher went limp, hand sliding from the bow and tumbled backward off the wall to the ground below. Beryl turned her head and clenched her eyes shut, unable to bear watching the impact. _No time for tears,_ she thought to herself. Resolutely, hating herself for it, she shoved the tears she wanted to cry into the back of her heart and mind, preparing to descend down the other side of the wall, hefting the small bag and case against her back.

Herkimer lunged at The Pale One, growling with fury. "That's my _home_ you _bastard_!" he grunted as a pair of orcs wrestled him onto the ground. "You gave your _word_!" He fought against his captors and silently sent prayers to the long-silent God he still revered, but nothing came to him. No divine light. No rescue. "You gave your word."

The Pale One chuckled and lifted a finger to his lips. "So I did," he stated with a sense of irony. "But you forget," he said, slowly reaching up, "that I gave you my word a long time ago, Herkimer Light- Bringer," His hands brushed back the hood, exposing his features. Herkimer stopped struggling, eyes wide as he took in the form of his revealed foe.

"that I will burn everything that you hold dear and make you watch as the strength of your pitiful God fails."

 **A/N: Hello everybody! I imagine you'd like to know what happens next! Sorry this took so long, I actually cut it short. Looking for a beta-reader and an assistant w the editing. Yes, Daryl will eventually be in the story a bit more, I'm working on it! He's not one to just be like "Yeah I'll play this inane children's game" so be patient. Yeah I talk about characters that way. Anywho, please read and review, I'd love to hear what you guys think of the story!**


End file.
